


Saving graces

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Light Angst, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: Yeah, he knows Danny will be there. Because Danny’s always there. Because maybe, once in a while, Steve needs saving and there’s no one he trusts more to do it.Whether it’s to save his body or his soul.**THERE IS NO ACTUAL RAPE IN THIS STORY but there is an assault situation in which someone intervienes to prevent it.***





	Saving graces

**Author's Note:**

> For Kristen999, because she said she needed comfort today.
> 
> H/C, with a good dose of comfort.
> 
> I hope this helps you feel a bit better, hon.
> 
> Unbeta'd so let me know if I goofed.

* * *

 

 

Steve is _exhausted_.

Steve’s so tired he’s shaking with it. Punch drunk on lack of sleep doesn’t even begin to cover this state of total and complete of overtiredness he’s in. 

It’s not like he hasn’t lived in a similar state for months at a time when deployed, but he’s lost some of his conditioning and fuck, he’s just plain getting old, his forty-second birthday in less than a month. He needs sleep, badly. 

He’s just come home from a three-day, non-stop marathon case that left him flooded with too much adrenaline. He’s about to crash and burn; he’s too tired to even think anymore. He lets his clothes fall to the floor, too drained to care about the mess that usually grates on his nerves, only taking care to put his Sig away before falling into bed.

Problem is; he _can’t sleep_ , no matter how hard he tries. He’s still so hyped up that every little sound makes him jump, startling him out of the light doze he keeps falling into, never truly asleep or awake.

After a couple hours of tossing and turning, he just gives up. The crash he was expecting hasn’t come and the remaining twitchiness just won’t let him rest so he gets back up, dressing quickly. He would swim but it’s too dark, not to mention the surf’s rough from the storm off the coast and the water’s cold. 

A run will tire out his body just as well and it’ll let his mind clear, burning off the residual stress, hopefully letting him sleep.

He puts a hand on his gun but he makes himself let it go. He doesn’t need it. He’s just going running. Still, he feels naked without it, vulnerable. He chuckles at himself and wonders what Danny would say about that and his paranoid tendencies. He smiles, shaking his head.

Yeah, he knows what he’d say.

_Neanderthal._

He stretches out of habit more than conscious thought, still not exactly sure where he’s heading. He’s so tired he can’t think yet his brain won’t shut down so he just starts running. He heads for the wet streets, leaving the residential area he lives in for the commercial district around the block, the wide, open sidewalks and deserted shops fitting his mood. The air smells like rain and wet vegetation after an earlier shower but the sky’s clearing up again. He passes the dry-cleaner and the coffee shop, the Thai place Kono loves and a bunch of other businesses like he does each day but all he sees is the damp pavement and the ghost of a moon in the sky.

The pounding of his feet on the pavement and his breath whooshing in and out of his lungs are the only sounds he can hear, all he wants to hear. He can’t think, not anymore. He doesn’t really want to. If he does, he’ll have to think about another death he couldn’t prevent, the one that drove him out here in the first place and if he ever wants to sleep…

The thought disintegrates as his foot slips when he rounds a corner, the loose, damp sand on the edge of the sidewalk rolling under the sole of his trainers.

He pitches forward and sideways, stumbling, arms flailing, trying to catch his balance until he manages to grab the edge of a bench by a bus stop. He grasps the backrest with both hands and sprawls forward over the bench with a grunt.

He stays there, chin to his chest, breathing hard. He feels his heart hammer against his ribs as he pants, his legs quivering with fatigue. He looks up at the sign over his head to get his bearings, not exactly sure where he ended up. 

He sighs and sits on the bench, just catching his breath. He’s about two miles from home and he’s beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. His heart is still pounding hard from the fresh rush of adrenaline but his body is beyond its last reserves. 

He leans forward and buries his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, feeling the heavy, decidedly undeniable pull of fatigue. He’s going down, whether he wants to or not and since he has no desire to sleep on a bus bench…

He raises his head and sits up. He needs to call a cab. 

His hand is just about to close on the cell in his pocket when a noise makes him pause, dulled senses suddenly on high alert. He sits there, frozen, ears straining. He’d swear he heard a scream; a woman, muffled, somewhere across the street. 

He waits, head cocked like a dog, for over a minute before huffing out a breath. He’s even more tired than he thought. He’s beginning to imagine things; hearing sounds that aren’t-

There. A woman. Screaming. This time, he’s dead sure. There’s no missing the absolute fear and desperation of the sound.

He’s on his feet and jogging across the street in half a second, before he can even think about moving. The scream comes again and he pins it down, knows it’s coming from the alley behind the vet clinic across from the bus stop. 

He’s running flat out, trying to find a side alley to get there because if he doesn’t, that girl is going to get raped or killed, he’s sure of it. She can scream all she wants, he’s the only one who’ll hear. The neighborhood is strictly commercial and at this hour, it’s deserted. He puts his hand to his hip as he rounds the corner south of the vet clinic. He pauses and curses. His gun is at home and he’s alone.

He can hear the struggle now, just around the corner, to the back of the building. He’s itching to move, to jump into the fray and save that girl but it sounds like it’s two guys out there and he’s alone and unarmed.

“NO! Please! Stop! Noooo!”

She screams again and this time, he makes out the words, the tears and the resistance she’s putting up.

He shakes his head and grabs his cell, pressing 9 tightly.

“911 what is your emergency?”

“This is Commander Steve McGarrett, Five-0, send some backup and EMS, 10-31 at my location, alley behind the vet clinic on Haliea!” 

He hangs up without waiting for an answer, knowing it’ll make his request go priority. He can’t wait another second. He glances up to see where the streetlight is and steps directly between it and the suspects, extending his arms in a shooter’s stance. The light coming from behind him should shield him, the perp losing depth perception and details in the backlight, and if he’s lucky, the creeps will think he IS armed and back off, hopefully before they can see clearly enough and figure he’s bluffing. It’s not like he’s defenseless.

“Five-0! FREEZE! HANDS! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” he shouts as he squares off in a shooter’s stance.  He can see the man and woman clearly now; there’s only one guy, a enormous hulk of a man and from the looks of it, the girl’s been putting up one hell of a fight. As he’d hoped, the guy freezes, long enough for him to see the glint of light off of the knife in his hand.

He swallows and inhales, calculating, weighing his options. The blade looks huge in the shadows, a solid ten inches of steel. He’s got to act now but he’s tired and he knows his reflexes and reaction times are slower, weaker.

It feels like time stretches but in reality, he knows the whole thing lasts only a few seconds. He’s not afraid but he’s not stupid either. 

He may be unarmed but the guy’s just a creep and he’s a SEAL. The other guy doesn’t know that and that’s another advantage he plans to make full use of. 

“DROP IT!” he shouts, taking a step towards the man.

Steve knows how to get the knife out of his hand. He doesn’t pause long enough for the would-be rapist to react or realize he has no weapon.

“I SAID DROP IT!” he barks.

The guy doesn’t, rushing him instead, aiming low, knife extended towards him, aiming at his gut.

 Steve sees him coming a mile away, expected it even. He ducks down, right arm low. He brings it under the assailant’s wrist as he steps back out of reach of the blade and bends his elbow, trapping the guy’s arm to his chest and twisting the guy’s shoulder back into a lock as he slams his left hand right behind the perp’s ear. In one fluid move, he fists his right hand and smashes it into the side of the guy’s jaw, but the knife slides along his left forearm before it drops to the ground. Steve hisses as the blade bites into his flesh.

The guy stumbles and falls but he’s not out and the knife is still in play, too close to the perp’s hand. Steve wastes no time, ignoring the stinging burn on his forearm. He kicks the blade out of reach before he grabs the thug’s flailing right hand and twists the wrist, his other hand pushing the elbow up.  The man’s down on his face now and all Steve has to do is plant a knee in his back and hold him there until HPD arrives. He can already hear the sirens over the sobs of the girl. She’s somewhere behind him, huddled against the fence, he guesses.

He blinks and it’s like time fast-forwards. Three HPD uniforms come running when he shouts and he begins to shake, the adrenaline fading, the exhaustion catching up to him suddenly as they grab the suspect and take over. The only thing in his head is _finally, finally, I can sleep._

The three cops take the suspect off his hands and he stands, body aching. He takes a stumbling step back, a sudden rush of vertigo hitting him.  He sucks in an uneven breath and blinks, shaking his head a little. Lying down seems like a good idea right now but he can’t, not yet. He has to give his statement. Maybe then he can have one of the uniforms drop him off at home once he’s done.

An EMT walks up to him and she shakes his head. “I’m fine. Take care of her.”

“But sir…”

“I’m all right, she’s the one that was assaulted.” God, why is he slurring his words like that? His head feels muzzy and thick and he thinks maybe he needs to up his conditioning a little. Exhaustion doesn’t make him this woozy, usually.

“I know but… you’re bleeding pretty bad, sir. Let me have a look.”

Steve frowns, wants to ask ‘what?’ but he feels it then; a scorching pain along his left arm, cool air burning his flesh like molten steel. Everything suddenly blurs and he hears a series of wet splats on the asphalt, too thick to be the rain that’s falling again in a light drizzle.

He looks down at his arm and all he can see is liquid, black like oil, flowing down his arm, dripping off his fingers, a puddle forming under his hand. 

Blood. 

His. 

A lot of it.

He miscalculated.

He was too slow, sloppy. Bad execution.

The knife didn’t clear his arm.

He screwed up.

The pain surges and he gasps with it. He’s lightheaded all of a sudden, incredibly dizzy and the light is slowly fading out. He’s cold. He feels himself start to fall and all he can think about as consciousness flees is _Danny’s_ _gonna_ _be pissed._

* * *

Random images. 

Bits and pieces. Faces. Colors.

Scraps of sound. Echoes.

Harsh white light.

Cold.

Pain.

He’s floating just under the surface, aware but not, until suddenly he’s awake, eyes flying open on a gasp, memories rushing back like a tsunami.

“Easy, easy. You’re okay.”

Pain flares in his arm, sharp and dull all at once. He screws his eyes shut on a pained groan and he forces himself to turn his head and look at his partner.

“Danny,” he huffs.

“Yeah. I hit the call button. They should be here soon with something for the pain.”

“Okay,” he huffs, fighting back the agony in his arm. Oh god, it hurts. “Bad ‘s it?” he asks through clenched teeth because his arm aches far too much for a simple nick and he can’t _move_ it. He can still feel the remnants of general anesthesia floating through his veins and still flooding his brain. He remembers what happened but… he doesn’t. It’s too hard to think. Drugs.

“The knife hit the radial artery. You almost bled out before…” Danny huffs and clears his throat. “… before they got you here. Vascular surgeon said he repaired the artery but that the nerve wasn’t damaged so you shouldn’t lose function. Muscle was cut clean through but it should heal fine. You’ll be okay.”

“Mhm.” Blood loss. That’s why he feels like so much crap. His eyes slip closed and he lets them. He hears a soft female voice talking to him and feels something warm crawl through his veins and he doesn’t fight the pull dragging him back under.

* * *

 

 

He wakes up again and it’s bright out. He swallows, blinks and exhales, groaning softly, the pain in his arm making itself known as soon as the muscles move with the slightest twitch.

“You awake for real, this time?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, throat dry. He feels his lips crack and bleed and he wonders how long he’s been out.

“Here.”

Danny brings a straw to his mouth and he takes a sip or two and runs his tongue over his lips.

“You need lip balm. How’s the pain?”

He thinks about it. “Not too bad. Girl okay?”

“She’s fine. You? Not so fine. You’ll be all right though, given some time. They stopped the transfusions couple hours ago.”

He closes his eyes and swallows, trying to push the cobwebs back. “I screwed up. I thought… Maybe he got the skin… I wasn’t…”

“Hey. Stop that. You didn’t screw up. You got hurt doing the right thing,” Danny scolds. His tone is a little gruff but when Steve opens his eyes to meet his gaze, he sees only warmth and concern in Danny’s eyes.

“Not what I meant,” he says nonetheless.

“What did you mean then?”

“I’m… not what I used to be,” he says with a sigh, letting his eyes wander to the view out the window. “Before the transplant?  No way I’d have gotten hurt doing a takedown like that.”

He’s expecting some sort of protest but instead, Danny sighs deeply. “You may have gotten a little soft although you try your best not to let it show.”

“Thanks,” Steve says dejectedly.

“No, no,” Danny halts, both palms raised to keep him quiet, “hear me out; you may not be as fit as you were but that’s fine. You’re not a SEAL anymore, and I don’t say that to hurt you in any way or like it’s a bad thing. You’re a full time cop and you, for the first time in over twenty years, have a life outside of your career. You have something other to do than train and lift weights and spar and that’s a good thing. Your life’s changed, babe. So yeah, you’ll have to be more careful next time, be aware you’re not as indestructible and that maybe you’re not as much a ninja as you used to be. Doesn’t make you useless or not as good a person. You just need to be more careful. Just a little. Besides, as you’re so fond of saying, you got me as backup. So.”

Steve shakes his head and closes his eyes, pondering Danny’s words. He’s not sure what to say, what to think. 

Danny… isn’t wrong. It still rubs him ten kinds of wrong to admit he isn’t in fighting form anymore. But apparently, it’s okay. He just isn’t sure _he_ ’s okay with it. It’s a hell of a way to figure it out.

He feels Danny’s hand close on the shoulder of his good arm, squeezing hard. 

“Hey. Change is a good thing, babe. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You saved that girl’s life. And without the three days without sleep and the five mile run, I’m sure you’d have been fine.”

He has to admit Danny’s right on that. “Yeah. And it’s two miles from my house, Danny, not five.”

“Anyway, you get some time off now. Or will I have to fight with you every second about following doctor’s orders?”

“Why does everybody think that?” Steve says, a little affronted.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because I’ve seen you chase a suspect by jumping off a roof hours after being released from the hospital, barely ten days after a liver transplant?”

He sighs. Okay, point. He shrugs and goes to move his arm and ow fuck does it hurt. He gently rests it on the bed, screwing his eyes shut, pressing his head into the pillow.

“Oh… damn, that hurts…” he mutters. “Maybe... pain meds ‘d be good...”

“I’ll get the call button. They wisely put it on the unhurt side.”

The nurse comes in and more Dilaudid is injected into his IV. Once the heavy rush passes and the pain dies down, he flops his head towards Danny. “This’ good stuff.”

“Yeah. You’re high as a friggin kite, my friend.”

“Yuh,” he slurs, grinning. “S’good stuff but… msesses… miss.. messes. me ‘up a bit though.” 

“I can see that.”

He still wants to address what Danny said about his tendencies to ignore medical advice, despite his brain feeling like it’s filled with syrup. “M’not… stupod. Stipud. S. Stupid. Know how mooch I cn do. And I won’ be sti..Stupid, ris’ loonoosn’ my arn. Arm. Damn.”

Danny chuckles. “We’ll try that with fewer vowels and the right consonants in a few hours. Sleep, all right? I’ll be back later. Remember, I’m the backup, so I’ll be there, making sure you’re okay,which includes making fun of you when you’re drugged, and yes, occasionally nagging you to death about taking care of yourself.”

“K’.” He closes his eyes. Or maybe they already were. He… Later.

“Sleep tight, babe. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yeah, he knows Danny will be there. Because Danny’s always there. Because maybe, once in a while, Steve needs saving and there’s no one he trusts more to do it.

Whether it’s to save his body or his soul.

 

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my usual, so I'd love some feedback.


End file.
